SOW YOUR MUSTARD SEEDS

From the Daily Comet:

A few dozen people stood on a stretch of Grand Isle beach Sunday afternoon, hoping that what they were about to receive in their cupped hands would end the oil spill that has caused so much suffering and uncertainty.

Six volunteers put mustard seeds in their waiting hands, a visible reminder of the biblical tale recounted moments earlier by Jeff Dorson, executive director of the Humane Society of Louisiana. Each was asked to plant the seeds upon his or her return home.

In a parable found in the New Testament, Jesus told his disciples they could move mountains if they had the faith of a mustard seed. After repeated and failed attempts to cap the BP well responsible for the weeks-long spill that has polluted beaches, coated marshes and felled coastal wildlife, Dorson said he began to view prayer as the only way to save south Louisiana's economy and environment.

“Have this seed be your symbol, your truth, your power of prayer,” he told the crowd. “When this seed starts to grow, a miracle is going to happen.”

We feel helpless down here in south Louisiana. BP's response to cleaning up the mess they've made is slow and disorganized, and the oil gusher still gushes. Nor are we pleased with the response by the federal government, whose main thrust seems to be plead with BP to do more, faster. Richard Nixon's "pitiful helpless giant" metaphor comes to mind - again.

And then, there's this, also from the Daily Comet:

Arthur Eschete, owner of Sea-Go Seafood in Houma, is flying his flag upside down these days. On the open seas, he says, it’s a traditional way to signal to passing vessels that you’re in distress.

Like many others affected by the spill, Eschete can talk at length about his fears and stresses. There are worries grounded in everyday life, like how water closures linked to the Gulf oil spill affect his seafood business, finances and family.

But other things weigh on his mind too. He used to work in the oil-and-gas industry, and he fears what the ban will do to the local economy, and what a crippled economy will do to life on the bayou, where his family has lived for 250 years.

“No one knows where we’re at right now, and that’s the scary thing,” Eschete said. “I’m 65 years old, and this is the first time in our lifetime that me and my wife have no idea what’s going to be down the road in 2 to 3 years.

“I try to look at what could happen to turn it around, but all you have to do is go on the Internet and look at those dead birds and dead dolphins — how can we just bounce back to where it doesn’t devastate us for a decade? ... The future is very grim.”

Arthur's right. The future is very grim.

Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.